


Prologue: Within, Without

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Series: Borrowed Time [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Character(s), Male Friendship, Male Slash, Marvel Norse Lore, Pre-Slash, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Role Reversal, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: Kaecilius' POVMany possibilities could have led the Ancient One Kaecilius to the moment he lays mortally wounded beneath Doctor Stephen Strange's hands, but sensing that he lives on borrowed time, he feels it is his time to die. Doctor Strange will try to convince him otherwise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE

There were times I thought death had no meaning, no purpose, that I may never take my next breath and the sound of my heart was an empty cadence which told and upheld the grand illusion called time – Time and it's relative splendor was all I had since the birth of Midgard.

A loneliness never seen, never witnessed was my own companion throughout the days of fire and fruitlessness due to the forming of Midgard.

Many like I emerged from the black soil, covered from all dimensions in darker shades of nothingness, we never once spoke to each other then, thinking that either we had nothing of interest to say or if the other would listen, we simply ignored one another or avoided one another altogether, each aimlessly wandering about Midgard as if we had no perception of 'out there', no aspirations of furthering ourselves.

Nothing seemed to exist beyond Midgard, within our empty minds we existed for no other reason than to drift mindlessly, none seemed to object to our linear conduct.

Relative peace and quiet covered Midgard, we, ourselves seemed to float ceaselessly, leaving only disturbed areas of dust and gravel as testament of our existence, passing accidentally within one another gave us little thrills, none after took the same pleasures as we, soundlessly watching as Midgard matured, her skin cooling until oceans took place where burned black soil and dormant lavas glowed.

Then came tiny beings, little specks in the water, they grew and grew, and were soon able to move themselves unto land, later, almost too soon, they were gone, leaving us alone again.

After an unnumbered amount of time, which to us may have been only a gasp, four-legged creatures emerged from the earth itself, they in turn ignored us, skittering away at the slightest movement and disturbance we may have caused – much later, they stood upon two legs and took their first steps toward modern times...

I have seen too much, far too much that the human mind cannot un-foresee, endless expansions of ideas and dreams which tears new lesions between both my memories and teachings, which by themselves are branches leading to the modern harnessing of non-magical elements.

My age itself is lost within the infinite possibilities that may have, could have, should have, would have, and have come to pass, and have then passed – the Astral Plane itself is my mother, my father, my teacher, and my tormentor.

An accident -alike the one that has landed me in this hospital, the same accident which gives my physical body over to the hands of Doctor Strange- all evens seem linear and preplanned.

“Oops,” my silenced breath is nothing more than a wheeze, a gasp – he looks down unto my prone body as if I had done something more dastardly than bleed openly upon his rolling hospital bed.

The concern, his concern, his face, his past...oh, the many possibilities...each and every one of them are beautiful...all of which are preludes to where I lay, where my physical body is in mortal peril.

My past being that I was born of the Astral Plane as one of the first Dökkálfr is where my mind wanders first:

I, alike all those whom came before and after myself, yearned for the same things after a period of self-imposed isolation, we pursued the singular goal until we had achieved it: to be a Higher self.

Few of us had taken to floating skyward, others dispersed themselves among the other realms beneath Asgard's rule, I found myself before glorious and radiant hosts of the sky world called Álfheimr, we were received warmly.

Solely given the choice to transcend the Astral Plane to Valhalla or another of Asgard's neighboring realms, I chose to remain on Midgard as it's sole inhabitant, others wisely abandoned Midgard as I should have.

The hosts, the Ljósálfar, had been gifted heavenly celestial bodies which were as beautiful and resilient as they were ageless and wise as the givers of their gifts: Asgardians.

The Asgardians themselves are older than I by lifetimes unnumbered and folded within their folds, as old as Time itself – and yet I envied the Ljósálfar of their beautiful bodies, their features reminiscent of the glorious Asgardians whom molded and shaped the Ljósálfar's amorphous bodies of light into beings of far richer existence than I, a lowly Dökkálfr.

Times before they were given features to be envious of, I had not one single inkling of what the concept of 'Beauty' even began as.

A sunset was simply a sunset, until I learned on my own to stare aimlessly to the west and Yearn for the impossible.

Rain was merely the result of heavy clouds, until I learned on my own to associate my formless tears to that of an unquenchable thunderstorm.

A flower was only a flower, until, inevitably, I saw hues I begrudged to wear, scents I desired to smell upon my...

Having no nostrils, no nerves, and all other senses but empathy had their drawbacks.

Being born of nothingness had given me only a telepathic link to those within close proximity were prehistorically able to communicate both emotions and memories to one another, yet passing against one another was an oddly addictive sensation that we avoided out of courtesy.

The Ljósálfar, having taken pity upon me, had made a bargain: if I were to find an anomaly which they could not explain with their vast intellect bestown unto them by the Asgardians, they would then fashion me a body which would allow me to experience everything as if I were something more than a wandering shadow.

The journey to the many realms is still a blur, perhaps being I was too ignorant and such a simplistic form of invisible energy to fully understand my own insignificance within Asgard's vast kingdom.

Passing through the Bifrost was a mistake, a lost journeyer's mistake.

Resplendence and ethereal beauty untold met my perception at Asgard's floating lands.

People! Heavenly creatures went about their business living within Asgard's peaceful kingdom beneath Odin's watchful eye.

None could see me, none could feel my exuberance as I passed through their lively bodies and into the golden air.

Almost, just barely, I could sense the phantom sweetness of foods passing through my body, snippets of pleasant temporary memories as the soft crush of bodies crowded around me, their skin and clothes brushing the outer edges of my shadow whilst I float onward, in search of the riddle of the Ljósálfar.

It was until I first saw how two beings placed themselves closely together, how their bodily extensions made physical contact and melded to one another, how the apex of their forms touched and stirred, and rubbed though they were not able to pass through one another, their solid bodies fused as if they were trying in vain to affix themselves within the other.

The action itself was odd, even to me, and doubly so for them because they could have avoided colliding in such precarious positions; the Asgardians _willingly_ touched one another.

The phenomena struck me thoughtless, the more I spent time passing from home to home, I experienced and learned that there were different variations of the same anomaly – an elder to an infant, a pair of youths, a parent to their younglings and on and on and, so and so.

Each soft gesture, every mild tone uttered, the experienced mutual exchange of Pleasant energy...

...it left me exhausted, horrified, intrigued, confused and irreversibly addicted.

Once back in Álfheimr upon Midgard, I passed unto the Ljósálfar the many things I had seen and experienced, lastly, my query:  
  
“Can a being live without an anomaly as such?”

After deliberating for an instant, they answered, “We do not know.”

I took their reply as my victory, little did I know of their emotional growth.

Within the time I had gone away in search of their unsolvable enigma, the Ljósálfar had learned to value themselves and their opinions highly.

Hurt by their own failure to once more show that I am as lowly as my shadowed self was deemed, they fashioned me a body.

I looked upon myself for the first time after an eternity of floating about in search of my ultimate purpose.

Though my body was nearly beautiful, it was strong.

Though my face was symmetrical, it could be easily misconstrued as hideous.

They had also gifted me an atrocious name: Kaecilius.

Later would I learn its humiliating meaning.

My first day walking amongst the prehistoric Midgardians that the Asgardians themselves had designed to intentionally be horrific-mirror images of themselves, I learned of unnatural sensations.

The Ljósálfar had taken revenge upon me by making the body I inhabited a temporary vessel which would hunger, hanker, injure, break down and age the same way as a mortal Midgardian - making me realize my own humanity despite my Dökkálfr origins.

Life was relatively short as I began to savor each moment of each day as the full weight of mortality weighed heavily upon my Astral self.

Peace came in the form of small accomplishments, satisfaction from a hard day's work, ease from learning a deep-set routine.

And gradually, I forgot the riddle of the anomaly I had witness within Asgard, I became occupied with surviving the wilds of Midgard...alone.

An incurable sickness gripped my physical body, sapping my muscles of strength, feeding upon my blood and clouding my senses until I lay seemingly in a dimension made up of pain, suffering and darkness.

Dormammu, through the blackness and agony, called to my Astral self which had then taken on the characteristics of my physical self.

He hissed, he whispered, he seduced me, promising me an eternity free of mortal ailments.

I accepted.

His tutelage was harsh, merciless and at times senseless – yet, my body grew tenfold in strength, the more mystical power I began to harness, the more my emotions seemed to dull, the less I found myself unable to appreciate a single breath I took.

As I had done in the beginning of my existence, I avoided the prehistoric Midgardians and their ailments whilst I conjured darkness all around, allowing Dormammu to swallow whole lands and perverting the Midgardians.

Being the sole intelligent one inhabiting Midgard, the royal Asgardians transported themselves to the realm in peril.

Frigga touched my heart, leaving there within my chest the seed of kindness – allowing me to sympathize with the suffering of the Midgardians' beneath Dormammu's rule.

Odin took my head in his hands, leaving both bravery and techniques of self-defense – thusly, giving me the courage and might to stand up against Dormammu.

Two young gods, both sons of Odin, had given me firstly the gift of determination, and lastly, the gift of wit and the ability to conjure an ever-evolving tome of magic.

Using all gifts given, I banished Dormammu, not completely, but enough to hold him back for the next many years whilst I took refuge beneath Midgard's lands and meditate.

Only once in a great while do I break from eons of meditation to leave some part of the world changed; be it a vast cave painting or a stray stone tablet depicting various lines and indentations as alphabets, an outline for some strange flying machine or the world's first circuit board.

Some more useful than others, but all serving the purpose of shaping a world able to fold within itself and complex enough that patterns stretch out into infinity; lest Dormammu decides to recruit a susceptible human as foolish as I had previously been.

Ages of meditation, of teaching young Masters the art of perceiving and learning to their full potential...

...as I have been living on time borrowed from Dormammu, everything I experience outside the silence of my mind becomes too much at times.

“Doctor Strange,” his name still evokes an uneasiness within me, as if I were still teaching him to use the sling ring.

His blue eyes are intriguing, a shade reminiscent to deep water and his expression...

There is longing, sorrow, fear – the softening in his voice, the warmth of his hand on my own bloodied left hand is an emotion that I cannot pinpoint directly.

Doctor Stephen Strange may not see it, but worlds are enfolding within worlds instead of outwards as the mind should perceive the anomaly, I feel my world, the entire Universe itself shrinking and growing smaller, tinier still.

Tiles forming cubes, crashing inward, flat surfaces rolling inward, and lastly, I think to myself as Doctor Palmer puts an oxygen mask over my mouth, 'This is my moment.'

The machine monitoring my heart beeps, chaos erupts, though I am blind and deaf to their frantic movement and shouts.

“Kaecilius-,” I hear his voice, his tone is soft, not quite friendly nor hostile, I turn my Astral self and he follows me out to a sunset drenched in rain, “-Come back! You shouldn't leave your body!”

My Astral self pauses at the rooftop, I peer through the frozen drops of rain where the sun shines through, I wish that I can feel it's warmth one last time, I ask him, “Do you see, Doctor Strange? Do you find the sun comforting?”  
  
He glances at me from my left side, he then peers through the rain, he says, “Being alive to see tomorrow is, also.”

Not wanting to miss a single moment, I keep my eyes open, I take in the colors, the hues which break into a million shades of one color as clouds dip low unto the setting sun, I ask, “You know the first emotion I learned on my own, Doctor Strange?”

He does not ask, he instead looks to me, unable to blink himself, I answer, “All-consuming jealousy. A resentment so powerful and pure that I willed myself to be better than the simpleton I took myself for.”

I continue, “At one time, I too was ignorant of others, their emotions and their sufferings, all meant nothing to me only that I may live longer if I obey Dormammu.”

“You once were with Dormammu?” he is astonished, not at all hostile though as I know full well Master Mordo will be soon.

“I served Dormammu. Once, a time long ago before humans were able to make fire,” one can remember fondly of stump-faced cavemen being taught to crack flint atop a pile of dry tinder, I reiterated a short summary of the time during the fight against Dormammu, “We fought an Astral battle, just enough so that I was able to plant three seals around the Earth and shield Dormammu from ever returning.”

“Can you see his return, Kaecilius?” his question is an illusive one.

“There are possibilities, thousands, millions, an infinity of how I may have come to this moment,” I meet his gaze, his expression seems to make my chest ache even more painfully than the stab in my physical body, I say almost wistfully, “Yet, I do not see beyond this last sunset here with you.”

His eyes water, I cannot help myself as I reach and take one phantom tear from his cheek.

“It seems as if my lifetimes had run their course,” I rub my fingers together, the Astral Plane leaves a light breezy film upon my fingers as I continue to evoke the odd sensation, I speak, “And my luck has run out.”

“Please stay,” he almost whispers, my body turns on its own, seeing the fact that he is in visible distress, I am in awe of his sadness, “Please, Kaecilius?”

His plea causes my heart to spasm, I feel it, my physical heart is beating though I want to make the beating stop for an eternity, I unconsciously grip my chest.

“My Astral self will dissolve being that I have no soul, Doctor Strange,” I tell him of my deformity, he says my name so musically that in moments alike now I almost believe that he is not calling me the elvish-Asgardian word _'soulless'_ , if he knows of my flaw, my shame, my pain and guilt, maybe then he will let me go in peace instead of in distress, “The same goes the longer I borrow time from Dormammu – I may prolong the inevitable, but one day, one moment, all that I have seen and done will outweigh all that I may do and everyone I can save...”

He stands before my Astral self, his hands clasping my own, his Astral self's face so close to mine that I feel my heart speed up.

“For me,” he declares, he softly squeezes my hands and asks, “Can you stay? Just for me?”

Time is running out...time is slipping away...

The pain is dulling...

My physical self is shutting out my Astral self...

 

 

  

> “Kaecilius!” Doctor Strange shouts through the constant scream of the flatlining EKG, he takes hold of his Master's shoulders and gives him a shake, Kaecilius' body flops lifelessly as the surgical team begins filing out of the room, Doctor Palmer takes the time of death down, jotting the numbers upon a clip board, “C'mon, Ancient One, pull yourself together!”
> 
> His tears fall unto Kaecilius' unresponsive face, leaving warm trails upon the cold skin, he grabs up his Master's golden robes and sobs quietly, “I can't let go of my egotism, because it feeds my selfishness...I can't let go of my stubbornness because...who else would put up with all your zen bullshit and still love you?”
> 
> “Fine, fine,” a finger lifts up to Doctor Strange's cheekbones, Kaecilius smiles equally from a bout of cured loneliness, “I'll stay, only because you have far much more to learn.”

 

 

His touch is a marriage of fire and ice, a simultaneous burn and soothe as he connects himself to me, his lips upon mine, his hands on my shoulder and my bare chest.

Can a being live without an anomaly as such?

“The answer better be 'no', you soulless bastard,” he says against my lips, his soft lips forming a smile and his breath a rumbling laugh as I bring my hands over his cheeks.

And he is right, I cannot live without his love.

**Author's Note:**

> well, just got out of the show last night...& typed this out...that man Mikkelsen just does Things to my brain!!!
> 
> decided to make small installments after...because there is a story to be told, & i'm not an expert on 'Doctor Strange' lore, but i'll try my best!


End file.
